


Meeting Santa

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Santa Clause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 06:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: It's Christmas 2012 and old-man Merlin wanders the city like a lost soul, until he meets a very special personage.





	Meeting Santa

December, 2012

Merlin stopped by the café's window display. Fake snow frosted it while red and golden baubles framed it. The words Merry Christmas were lettered in vectorised Comic Sans format and pasted across the glass, surrounded by more snowflakes than was probably necessary. The lights that came from the heart of the café were reflected outside as well, forming pools of brightness on the wet pavement, glinting right across it in a rainbow of glaring colour. Inside people clustered around tables, tall cups either in their hands or placed in front of them. They talked and laughed, looked at the screen of their mobiles or typed away on their laptops. 

To Merlin they appeared all tremendously young and carefree. They seemed to exude happiness, cheerfulness. They personified the spirit of the season, oozing an enthusiasm for life that Merlin hadn't felt in quite a long time. They were a mirror of what he had been and had lost, a reminder of his past self. Because Merlin hadn't quite been himself in aeons.

To confirm that, he looked at his reflection in the café window. What he saw didn't exactly surprise him. He had, after all, gazed into a mirror in the past two hundred years or so. But the sight still disconcerted him. His long white beard needed a trim. He had often thought he should get down to mowing it down, but kept forgetting. To boot, his skin was full of wrinkles and grooves, lines and furrows. When Merlin thought of himself, he envisioned the lad he had been. His shoulders had weighed under no tired droop then, his cheeks had been closely shaved, and his skin had been as unlined as a fresh sheet of vellum.

That was the youth his mother had raised. The adult his father had but briefly met. The man who had met Arthur and served him dutifully. Would any of them recognise him now? Most certainly not. His mother would give a stab at soothing him, trying to wash away the marks of his dereliction. His father, who had foretold what would come to pass, would still not have imagined an outcome such as this. The twenty-first century, no, Balinor couldn't have envisioned it. And Arthur... Arthur would protest this man wasn't Merlin. 

And he'd have been right. He wasn't Merlin anymore. Merlin was a myth, a legend out of the many that had been spun out of testimonies surrounding the existence of Arthur's court. And that was as it should be, wasn't it? People no longer believed Arthur was real. They doubted his deeds. And if they did that, what point was there to Merlin? 

Merlin had ceased being himself when Arthur's heart had stopped for the very last time. The person he had been, the fire that had moved him, had been quenched with the last of Arthur's breaths. He might have survived since, roamed the world as he watched and waited, but he hadn't truly lived since the Dark Ages.

In the end, he supposed, he should have grown accustomed to the face he wore now. It was truest to his current self. It reflected the vagaries he had gone through, the weariness of his soul, and the tiredness of his limbs. Yes, this was the most faithful version of himself he could imagine. That other Merlin was dead and buried with Arthur.

He was so lost in thought, he had barely noticed when it started raining again. But all of a sudden the heavens opened and it began to pour. It was rather harder to ignore. Though he'd sometimes let himself get soaked while absent minded and passive, he found he wasn't in the mood to get drenched. Rain wouldn't kill him, that was true, but for once he'd rather reminisce while warm.

He could have gone to his house, but the place he called home these days was a hut in the middle of a forest in Wales. He had somehow wandered all the way up to London, sleeping rough, walking by day and stopping by night. So he had no go to place today. He could find cover still, a warm corner, or a patio of some kind. 

But all that bustle of life inside the café drew him in like a magnet. There was something so touching about it and he wanted to partake in it, albeit at a distance. It reminded him of times past, of an era that would never return. He had been too young and foolish to appreciate most of it back then. He had been so busy protesting his load of chores, or protecting Arthur, to truly enjoy what he had. He had had the entire world in the palm of his hand, the happiness and joy that such close bonds as the ones he had had created gave. He had lost all that, of course. It was past all recall. But he could bask in the mirth of others for a short while. He could allow himself that.

So he stepped inside the café, the door jingling like bells when it opened.

As he stood at the entrance, the door closing behind him, everyone stared. Some trained their eyes off him as soon as they'd satisfied their curiosity, but most didn't, murmuring behind their hands as they inspected him.

This was no surprise. Merlin knew what he looked like. His clothes were so worn some of them might be called rags. He was unkempt and dishevelled, stooped and bowed down by sorrow. He appeared wild and rough. But that's what he was, a slightly crazed old man tempered by life. 

Since he wasn't ashamed of that, he trudged to the counter, huffing and puffing as he did. The cashier raised an eyebrow at him, clearly suspecting he wouldn't be able to pay, but still said the rote, “What is it gonna be?”

“Chocolate.” Merlin made himself use his voice. It had been a while since he had last talked to another human being. “Hot.”

The cashier said, “That's £3.75.”

Merlin rooted in his left pocket and then in his left.

The cashier looked at him rather smugly, as if she had expected exactly this outcome. “Look, there are people queuing right behind you. If you don't have the money, let the others pass.”

Not heeding her, Merlin muttered to himself, ignoring the comments of those behind him. He searched his battered messenger bag and then his boots. “Ah ah,” he said, when he found coins in his sock. “I believe that's enough.” He counted the pound coins. There were four of them, their colour and shine rather dulled by use. 

“Yes,” the cashier said, raking up the coins with a moue of distaste. “Wait at the counter. You'll be served as soon as your chocolate is ready.”

“I know how it works.” Merlin might not have entered a place like this in years, but, however much he might not want it, he was still a part of this world. “Thank you.”

With a little sigh, Merlin plodded off to the other side of the counter, waiting for the barista to prepare his order. When he was done, Merlin took his cup, and plodded off towards a free table. The place was crowded, so he got the very last one. It stood in a corner, where there was no view of the street and the overhead neons didn't shine.

Merlin didn't mind. He rather enjoyed staying away from the limelight. He had secrets to keep and memories to dwell in. So he concentrically and repeatedly stirred his spoon in his cup, trawling the bottom for random sugar grains that hadn't dissolved. 

As he sat there, he watched customers line up for drinks, exiting and entering the café, sitting and talking. He should have hated it because he wasn't part of that. He had no friend to unburden himself with, no one to wait for, no job to do. He was a lonely wanderer and that was it.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the man who had come up to his solitary table until he obscured the light. 

Merlin blinked and slowly made out an ageing gentleman of seventy or so. Like Merlin, the person in question sported a long white beard and flowing white hair. Unlike Merlin's, both hair and beard were carefully combed and fluffed. They were both pristine in colour, just like driven snow. The outfit the new arrival wore was easily as strange as Merlin's, however. He was wearing red trousers fastened by a black belt, a chequered flannel shirt in green tones, and odd little round glasses perched on his nose. “Is this seat free?”

Merlin gazed around the café. All tables were taken and there seemed to be no available seat other than the one opposite Merlin. Ordinarily, Merlin would have said that no, it wasn't. He didn't like company, except at a distance. It felt too odd to him nowadays. Common curtsies sat strangely upon him. But there was something about this fellow old man that was arresting, that oozed good will. Merlin couldn't turn him away. “Yes,” he said in a rusty voice that didn't sound like his even to him. “The seat is free.”

The old man sat in the chair Merlin had declared free to take and put down a tray with a cup of tea that smelled like cardamom together with a bowl of milk rice.

While Merlin cupped his cup, the other man dug a spoon into his rice. “Where I come from we put an almond in our porridge.”

“I've heard about that.” Merlin hadn't lived fifteen centuries without travelling the world. Sometimes leaving Albion behind had helped him cope with his loss. Nothing had ever healed him, but some of the sights had helped a little. “Whoever finds the almond gets assigned a task.”

“The tradition as I have it is a bit different,” the old man said. “When I was young...” The man trailed off when thinking about the old days the same way Merlin did. Surely, though, he could only been reminiscing about events a few decades past. No one had such a well of memories as Merlin. “If a single young man or woman found the almond, it was a sign that the coming year would bring true love.”

“True love.” Merlin considered the concept, remembering the pain it brought with it. “I see.”

“You sound sceptical.” The old man tasted more of his sweet rice and drank a sip of his steaming tea. “I wonder why.”

Ordinarily, Merlin would have baulked at this thoughtless, prying question, but there was something about the way it was asked, the manner of it, that didn't cause him to close off. “I believe in it, but for most of us it bypasses us, like a meteor, or a shooting star streaking through the sky.”

“Lost love, eh.” The old man nodded to himself, as if he knew what Merlin was talking about, and maybe he did. “I'm sorry.”

Though that was something pat to say, Merlin believed his interlocutor to be sincere. “Thank you, er...”

“Nicholas.” The man held his hand out for Merlin to shake.

Flummoxed as to what else to do, Merlin did. Nicholas' grip was certainly strong for a man his age. Very energetic. “Merlin.”

Having introduced themselves, they shared a few silent moments.

As they spun away, Merlin felt something was about to happen. There was no reason to. After all, this was but a normal passing conversation, yet his senses tingled and played up. His magic seldom led him astray; in all these years it had been the one thing he could trust. Convinced he was right, he protracted the conversation. “So you're Swedish?”

“Swedish?” Nicholas echoed him as though Merlin's words sounded strange to him. “No, I come from further north.”

Further north? Did Nicholas come from Norwegian Lapland? Merlin asked but received no clear reply. 

“All these borders and lands, what do they mean?” Nicholas drank the dregs of his tea.

Though the answer was a little off the mark, Merlin had to agree. “Nothing.”

“Exactly,” Nicholas said, spooning some more of the pudding in his mouth. “They are things men use to wage war on each other. I personally don't believe in them.”

That was exactly what Merlin had come to believe too. Though he had been born in Essetir, he had pledged his loyalty to Camelot. And if the Saxons hadn't wanted into it and allied themselves with Morgana's forces, Arthur wouldn't have died. Arthur had known that too and he had tried to forge as many alliances with his neighbours as possible, looking to lay the foundations of a united Albion that knew no borders, but in the end fate had been too strong for him. The same was true for all countries in all of time. “So you're a pacifist.”

“I'm certainly that,” Nicholas said. “I'd rather spread joy than hatred, that's for certain.”

“And how do you do that?” Merlin had tried to do the same time and again, but he didn't think he had succeeded. If he had, Gwen would have had her husband by her side till the last day of her life. If he had, Morgana wouldn't have turned evil. Even more recently he could have done more, prevented so many of the world's conflicts. Or maybe he just flattered himself and had no power to change great events. Either way he wished he could have given more, put a smile on more faces than he had. “I've never been able to.”

“I'm sure you did your part.” Nicholas finished his rice and set it aside. “As for me, it's all down to organisation. And the help of some friends.”

Friends. Merlin had had a few good ones. But it was a while since he had called anyone that. The last decades had been harder and harder on him. When wars that had blown the world apart had started and ended without Arthur's return, he had given up hope and detached himself from every single outside entity. “Perhaps I should try to make some,” he thought out loud.

“Then why don't you?”

“It sounds so difficult now.” Merlin had no idea why he was sharing this with a stranger. He hadn't spoken the truth about himself in so long, he had come to doubt he could. After all, whom could he tell about his rather long life, his memories of Arthur? They'd take him for a madman. “I don't know if I have it in me.”

“Of course you do.” Nicholas sounded so sure, as if he knew Merlin. “Your heart has such a great capacity for love. Trust it.”

That was the problem, perhaps. Merlin couldn't couldn't put any faith in it. In the past he had gone and given it away and now he was left with the pieces, the broken shards of it. “I'm all dried up. That's the point.”

“Oh, you're not.” Nicholas waved the notion away with such certainty he astounded Merlin. “You can do it all.”

“What it I don't have the strength?” Merlin wasn't sure why he was trying to poke holes in Nicholas' theory, but so he was.

“You're talking such defeatist talk because life disappointed you.” As he studied Merlin, Nicholas adjusted his spectacles, which had slid to the tip of his nose and which he now returned to the bridge. “But it also has many surprises in store for you.”

Merlin believed that; he just suspected those surprises wouldn't be all that nice. Maybe there'd be another war. Maybe another dictator would rise to power. He just didn't trust life. He had at one time. He'd thought that justice would triumph and love would somehow conquer all. But it hadn't. Arthur had gone and the world was all the worse for it. “Maybe,” he said, not wanting to come across as quite nihilistic.

“Oh it does, it does.” Nicholas smiled benignly, and his red cheeks dimpled under his beard. “You just have to be patient.”

Merlin had had it with patience. He had waited so long, bided his time, hoped and prayed while nothing happened. He certainly couldn't tell this man that his wait had lasted more than a thousand years, because he'd be committed, but he wanted to voice his annoyance anyway. “I just can't bring myself to believe it. When is my life going to turn around?”

“Soon, quite soon.” Nicholas put up his hands, showing callused palms and chubby fingers. “Change is in the air.”

Nicholas seemed so certain, so sure, but he couldn't be. He didn't even know what Merlin was talking about. Merlin supposed Nicholas was trying to cheer him up, brighten his mood, and Merlin was oddly thankful, but these were still empty words. “I--” He licked his lips. 

“I can't guarantee it's going to be this year,” Nicholas went on, as if he wanted to smooth the conversation over. “Though I'm in a rather privileged position and hear rumours, I can't be more precise. You never know when it comes to _them_.” He pointed upwards. “Still, it's going to be fine.”

Merlin's jaw slowly slackened. It was almost as if he and Nicholas were talking about the same thing, but it couldn't be. This old gentleman couldn't have known about Arthur, and Merlin's long wait. Nobody did. Merlin was about to ask for clarification, just to establish that Nicholas was talking platitudes about the fulfilment of one's wishes, when Nicholas said, “This tea was tasty, not as good as moss tea, but I'm still going to get a refill for us both.”

So Merlin put questioning Nicholas off. It was just as well. He often came across as mad, he didn't want to do it now. Being so old was sometimes confusing. He forgot things and made odd remarks. Better keep his musings to himself. Bowing his head, he drank more of his chocolate, finishing it. 

When he looked up again, one of the baristas had come up to his table. She was carrying a tray with a cup of the same tea Nicholas had chosen and a slice of raspberry cake. “The gentleman already paid for you,” she said, putting the tray down. “He had to go but left this.”

Merlin was handed a red envelope across whose back were written the words 'For Merlin'.

Blinking, Merlin couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Why had Nicholas gone so abruptly when he'd said he would get some more of his brew of choice? Why had he written Merlin in the first place? He didn't owe Merlin any apologies. He wasn't beholden to him. They were complete strangers, thrown together by circumstance.

While Merlin pondered, the waitress left. Merlin toyed with the letter for a few long moments, whistling under his breath. He tried thinking of something else, but his attention reverted to the message. Given that some lambent curiosity stirred in him, he opened the envelope. 

In flowing cursive script the following was written,

_Dear Merlin,_

_excuse me for leaving so unexpectedly, but I got news of trouble at the office, so to speak. See, my collaborators were in a tizzy about the delivery aspect of our business. I must oversee the whole or we'll never meet the deadline._

_However, I'd still like to finish the conversation we had started. From a fellow old man to another, I'd like to offer a helping hand, if I can. That is my calling in a way._

_What I was awkwardly trying to tell you before I had to go is this: your wait is nearly over, old warlock. The Once and Future King will return soon. I have it on really good authority. I can't be more precise than that, because my sources are a little erratic and scatterbrained when it comes to worldly affairs, but of that I'm certain. Call it a Christmas gift from the universe, if you will. And you should always take Christmas very seriously._

_Yours,_

_Nicholas_

 

Merlin gaped. How on earth! How could have Nicholas known what Merlin was? Unless he was magic as well. But he hadn't seemed to be a warlock. Merlin would have had an inkling. Then what kind of supernatural creature was he? Merlin had encountered many through the centuries, but lately they had been so few and far between. It was almost as if magic was dying and he was one of its last representatives. But if it was so, how could Nicholas have been aware of so many of Merlin's secrets?

Realising there was no way of finding out, Merlin raised his glass to the heavens and drank to Nicholas' health.

 

**** 

 

Christmas 20-

 

Arthur and Merlin were walking down the street, festive decorations lighting it up together with store fronts and cafe window displays, stray sparks of light scattering on the pavement in a game of colours that rivalled the morning sun. Shoppers laden with bags hurried this way and that, jostling each other for access to shops or tube entrances. At the same time, cars thronged the carriageways, stopping in herds at the traffic lights, while pedestrians were at pains to cross. A delivery van idle double parked before a large boutique, causing more and more chaos.

“I still don't understand it,” Arthur said, as he walked abreast with Merlin. “What's this Christmas thing and why does it make people so excited?”

“I tried to explain this last year.” Merlin brushed shoulders with Arthur, not so much because the pavement was crowded, but because he wanted to confirm Arthur was there, with him, in the here and now. He would never quite stop doubting that, though Arthur had been back for two whole years. “It's to do with this religion people converted to some time after your...” The words stuck in Merlin's throat and wouldn't come out. He knew what had happened. It was his constant nightmare. He failed to understand why he couldn't just voice the word though. After all, Arthur was here with him now and that was all that mattered. “You know...”

“You realise you can say it, right?” Arthur studied him from out the corner of his eye, as if he was searching Merlin's face for clues to his weaknesses. Arthur was always attempting to help, but honestly he shouldn't have been the one to try. Merlin was the one who should support Arthur. With all that he had gone through that was the bare minimum. “My death.”

“I don't like to talk about it,” Merlin said into the wind. It cut at his face like so many blades. “I just...”

Arthur stopped in his tracks, causing Merlin to do so as well. “Merlin, I got over it.” He paused, squaring his jaw as he thought about what he wanted to say. “Of course it was hard. Coming back and awakening to this frankly strange world wasn't the easiest thing I've done.” He botched a smile; it was like the opening of the most beautiful budding flower. “I'd rather take on the questing beast.” Realising Merlin didn't find that humorous, he sobered, his features taking on a different cast. “But you seem to still be...” He frowned, taking his time to formulate his thought. “...cut up about it...”

Merlin bristled. He shouldn't have. Arthur might talk big about having slowly adapted, but he was still overwhelmed by his death and return to life. Merlin should have taken that in consideration and shut up. Still, Merlin had to vent, needed to, otherwise he'd just simmer and simmer until he exploded. “You can bet I am, Arthur!” Merlin drank in some air. He felt as if he was being throttled, choked, so that helped. “I lost you. And you have no idea what that meant to me.” Arthur still thought Merlin was only grieving a friend. But Merlin had lost his world, his sun, the person who made him love life. “No,” he said, holding up his hand so as to stop Arthur from arguing back. “I couldn't live for the pain of it. I couldn't breathe with the hopelessness of it. It took me a full century before I was able to go back to Camelot. It took me many more to be able to accept the fact I was meant to go on.” Merlin's eyes were brimming over by now. He got how selfish this was of him. Arthur was the one who had gone through the pain of actually dying. Merlin, for some reason, was impervious to death, so he should have made allowances. “I lost my love, Arthur, and that just broke me, so, yes, I'm cut up about it. It's only bloody normal!”

“What did you say?” Arthur's eyes rounded like saucers. “The part about love?”

Merlin could only wipe his tears away and bite his lip. Talking was more than a little beyond him.

“You said it as if...” Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him so Merlin would look at him. “You said it as if that was more than...”

Merlin swallowed against the pain lodged in his throat. “More than benevolence, more than friendship, more than everyday love?” He supposed he sounded slightly bitter and slightly deranged too. “Yes, Arthur, it was like that. I can't even find the words.”

Arthur appeared entirely bowled over. His eyes were so wide they seemed to bulge, his eyebrows had gone up and up, and his mouth had slowly come to gape open. Then he shook his head. On the heels of that, he appeared to collect himself quite soon; he had been a king once and that had taught him diplomacy. But still the reaction had been there. “I knew you were loyal to me. You...” Arthur faltered, but then he balled his fists, rolled back his shoulders and went on. “You were the person I trusted most. The one I most wanted by my side. I never stopped believing in you. Not even when it looked like you were forsaking me.” Merlin would have intervened, but Arthur stopped him, and that was only fair. “I know now you weren't, but that hurt like nothing else. I questioned why that was so. I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't confide that in anyone. Had no time to. And however loving Gwen was and however much I loved her, she couldn't get this one, because she was neither me nor you. She couldn't get the whole history between us. But I thought it over. I had plenty of time before dying.” Merlin flinched and Arthur kneaded his shoulder. “I went at it from every angle. I turned it over and over in my head and then I saw.”

Though he didn't know what he was agreeing with, Merlin nodded. Arthur's touch was undoing him and his thought processes were being slowed down by it. 

“Won't you ask me what it was that I saw?” Arthur tilted his head, his expression both enquiring and hopeful. “I know you're brave, the bravest, so why don't you ask?”

Merlin didn't think he was that brave. Risking his life was one thing. He had done it. He could do it again in a heartbeat. But what Arthur was asking was completely different. “I can't, Arthur. It's too hard.”

Arthur's jaw stiffened, his hands opened and closed repeatedly. He squared off against him. “Merlin, the time has come. We have waited too long.”

That was true as well. Merlin had kept his secrets to himself for centuries. At first, it had been his magic, then his love, then the true nature of his essence, his inability to age and die. He had pretended to be a normal peasant for Arthur, he had kept his feelings to himself, buried so deep that for a long time he hadn't been able to name them, and he had faked ageing to stop the talk of the town. But was it worth it? Was it right? It wasn't, couldn't be. Arthur was the brave one, the one capable of confronting his feelings. Hadn't he defied everything to marry Gwen? He might have teetered for a moment, but once his mind was made up, he hadn't changed course. Merlin had to try and match him in this.

“When I was young--” And wasn't that a life-time ago? “--I knew I'd do everything for you. I'd serve you--”

“Complain--” Arthur put in with a crooked smile.

Unable not to, Merlin smiled in return. “Yes, that. But it wasn't the point, was it?” He needed no answer; they were both aware. “I served and protected you. It was in my bones. I'd have done it regardless. But I fell in love with you. Couldn't really help myself.”

“And when I died--” Arthur wetted his lips, inhaling through his nostrils. “Did you know then?”

Merlin nodded twice. “I had known for some time.”

“We could have had a day then, Merlin.” Arthur palmed his cheek, which was now as it had been, clean shaven and softer, like that of a young man. He looked like one too, in deference to Arthur, but he didn't feel as green as he had been when truly twenty. “We could have had some time.”

Love glowed inside Merlin, as fiery and fierce as it had been when he was young. “It wouldn't have been enough. Eternity wouldn't have been enough.”

Though his eyes were as veiled as Merlin's felt, the corners of Arthur's mouth edged upwards. “We have time now.”

Merlin couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. “What if something happens?”

“Then we face it together.” Arthur watched him for a reaction, hesitation evident when he lowered his gaze. He pressed his lips together, and they paled somewhat. “Unless you think our chance is past?”

Time had come for Merlin to face all of his fears. To strip back all his preconceptions. It was such a challenge. He'd bided his time for so long, kept it quiet, let himself steep in his own pain. And though Arthur's return had awaken him to new life, which had reflected itself in his newly youthful body, he still hadn't managed to open himself up to the possibilities that had cropped up.

They were both alive; they were both here. Did all Merlin's past doubts and conflicts have anything to do with that? He'd told himself his love didn't matter. He'd bargained with fate, promising that if Arthur returned he would ask for nothing more than his mere presence in his life. But the heart was fickle in its hopefulness and now he desired more. He would have stood there doubting himself longer, if Arthur hadn't said his name with such intensity. But he had and Merlin couldn't avoid stepping right into the fire. “It isn't. My love is unchanging and unchanged. If you want it--”

Without letting him go on, Arthur pulled Merlin to him and caused their mouths to meet. The kiss wasn't as passionate as the action might have implied, but it was the softest, most heart-breaking one of Merlin's life. Their lips moved one on top of the other, rubbing and sliding together. They nudged and nursed; they grazed and lingered. When they parted, a weight had lifted off Merlin's chest and a smile had dawned on his face. 

“It's a bit chilly,” Arthur said, rubbing Merlin's arms warm. “Can we go inside for more of this?”

“Yeah.” Thanks to Arthur's kiss, Merlin wasn't actually feeling the cold, but he wanted more of Arthur in private, so he didn't mind a little seclusion. “Let's take the bus home.”

When the red double-decker stopped at the stop, they climbed in, the back of their hands brushing together.

 

**** 

Christmas Day started off cold and dark. As usual, Merlin had woken early, a habit his mother had taught him and that had stayed with him throughout his life. In his pyjama bottoms and a thick fleece jumper, he made his way into his living room. Since he wasn't Christian – his beliefs being tied up in the magic of the earth – he had neither tree nor decorations up. Given that his space was thus uncluttered, he immediately noticed the large red envelope sitting on his mantelpiece.

It hadn't been there the night before and he had neither bought it nor been given it. Arthur might have picked it up somewhere, but somehow Merlin didn't think so. Wanting to find out what it was, Merlin opened it and went to read it by the scant light of the window.

He recognised the hand immediately, but though his curiosity was partially satisfied, he still read on.

_Dear Merlin,_

_It's been a few years since we saw each other, but I keep thinking you haven't forgotten me, just as much as I haven't forgotten you. Though I have never given you presents and have never stopped by your house, I feel we are somehow friends, similar creatures, connected by our very unchanging nature._

_Because I have been very busy, I haven't been able to drop by and say this in person, but I'm very glad Arthur was returned to you. I was certain this would happen, and I'm sorry I couldn't say when. Creatures of fire and earth are very strange when it comes to mortal time, aren't they? They are terrible sources, and a scrupulous person wouldn't rely on them as sure fire authorities. But I knew how much you needed cheering up at the time we met, so I couldn't let my chance slip by. Giving joy is my job and calling. Though neither of us is bound by time, we both feel its passage the way mortals do, and I'm sure the wait must have been burdensome to you. Yet, I could tell knowledge of Arthur's return would have given you strength enough to wait some more._

_Anyway all's well that ends well. Now you have all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company, as it should be, and as it was foretold. I'm glad your reunion happened at Christmas time as well. You may not put much stock by it, but I depend on it entirely, am tied to it double string, so I deem Arthur's homecoming a gift of the season._

_By the way, I have left you a little something. I usually always leave a present when I visit a house; it's in my make up, and I couldn't avoid doing so in this instance as well. Look in the kitchen and you'll find a nice warm plate of chocolate biscuits. They're artisanal and elf-made, very tasty, I assure you. (I was inspired by the families I call upon in winter.) The milk is reindeer. It's very nutritious. All the little ones here thrive on it. You should come and visit so you could see for yourself._

_Wishing you a very Merry Christmas,_

_Yours,_

_Nicholas_

 

Merlin had just finished reading, when Arthur, just awake, padded over to him. 

“What's in your hand?” he asked, moving right close, the scent of him awakening Merlin's senses.

“A message from a well-wisher,” Merlin said, turning around to pull Arthur in his embrace. He nuzzled and kissed his neck, relishing the warmth of him. He would never grow tired of this, of Arthur's body, his physicality. He had missed it for so long and he would never stop loving Arthur. And, he supposed, good old Nicholas had known. “Season's greetings.”

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a bit late for this, but I had always meant to post two Christmas stories this year, so forgive the delay. This ficlet might maybe be of some use next year.


End file.
